


Good to You

by surlybobbies



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Domestic Fluff, Drunken Confessions, Friends to Lovers, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, In Vino Veritas, M/M, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-16
Updated: 2021-01-16
Packaged: 2021-03-14 06:42:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28791168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/surlybobbies/pseuds/surlybobbies
Summary: Dean scrubbed a hand over his face. “Jesus. I didn’t hit on you last night, did I?”Cas paused.“I hit on you?”“You suggested we get married.”It had been a sweet proposal, if a little silly: Sam had gone to the bathroom, and in his absence Dean had taken to staring open-mouthed at Cas’s profile. It was then that he’d asked, in all his drunken courage, “You ever think about marrying me, Cas? Swear I’d be good to you.”
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 52
Kudos: 727
Collections: Dean/Cas Tropefest 2021 Mid-Winter 5k





	Good to You

**Author's Note:**

> Is this my first fic with alternating POVs? Not sure. But it's definitely something I don't usually do. 
> 
> Written for the Midwinter Tropefest 5K! I love this fest because it gives me an excuse to go hard on the cliches. :)

It was obvious that Dean, age 34, could no longer hold his alcohol.

Cas grit his teeth against Dean’s weight as he guided him to bed. Meanwhile, Dean was critiquing his surroundings.

“Dumbass still has a Christmas tree up,” Dean said, leaning heavily into Cas as he gestured with an unsteady hand toward the Christmas tree in the corner. “You see this shit, Cas? It’s fuckin’ February.”

Dean swayed a little more, causing Cas to bump painfully into a table with a muttered expletive. Pulling Dean tighter to his side, Cas replied, “First of all, I’m the dumbass you’re talking about because this is my apartment. Second of all, it’s still January.”

Dean swung his face toward Cas, making Cas nearly lose balance again. The smell of vodka met Cas’s nose. “Who called you a dumbass?”

Cas continued guiding Dean to the bedroom, wincing when Dean tried to pull away to look at the baubles on the Christmas tree. “Why?” Cas asked, tugging Dean away by the torso. “Will you take him outside and teach him a lesson?”

“Depends how big he is,” Dean answered airily. He aimed a sloppy punch at Cas’s lamp as they passed it. Luckily he missed. “No one calls you a dumbass but me.”

Cas opened his bedroom door and nudged it open with his foot. “Got it. Let’s get the other dumbass in the bed now.”

“Dumbass? Where?”

Cas lifted the covers and let Dean fall into the mattress by himself. “In the bed,” Cas answered with relief, mopping at his forehead. “Finally.”

Dean was already settling in with a contented sigh. Cas hated to let him fall asleep in the clothes he’d been wearing, but Dean’s eyes were already fluttering closed. He settled for pulling off Dean’s boots.

“You’re gonna hate yourself in the morning,” Cas murmured once he was done, leaning close to fix the covers. “Sleep it off. I’ll be in the living room if you need me.”

He was turning away when Dean suddenly reached out and grabbed his wrist. Cas looked back, surprised. Dean had one bleary eye open. “The hell you going?” he mumbled.

“The couch.”

Dean scowled. “Why?”

“Because you’re in my bed.”

“So what?” Dean mumbled. “It’s cold. Get in the damn bed.” He tugged on Cas’s wrist and only let go when Cas sighed in concession and moved toward the other side of the bed.

Dean woke up warm. Too warm. He opened his eyes - swollen with fatigue - and was met by the sight of someone’s chest rising and falling in a cotton T-shirt. That someone had their arm slung over Dean’s side in a loose embrace. Dean tilted his head up to confirm his suspicions.

Cas was asleep. His legs were tangled with Dean’s.

Dean took a deep breath. The pungent scent of alcohol and sweat filled his nostrils, but underneath he also smelled Cas’s detergent, sweet and clean. He took another deep breath. 

It was still warm.

Too warm.

His stomach turned; he winced and tried to breathe through the nausea.

Dean had dreamed of being in Cas’s bed, of mornings he could wake up and see Cas from this angle. He’d dreamed of moments exactly like this, with Cas’s hand on his back and his breath on Dean’s hair, and Dean wanted to savor it before dawn broke, but he couldn’t because - 

“Cas, wake up. I gotta hurl,” he said, groping blindly for the edge of the covers.

It took Cas only a split second to wake up and register what was happening. He was out of bed in the next second, circling to Dean’s side to take him by the arm.

They made it to the toilet just in time. Cas looked away politely while Dean heaved over the bowl, but he kept a palm moving in comforting circles on Dean’s back. It helped, and eventually Dean unloaded a night’s worth of drinking into Cas’s toilet.

When Dean was done, Cas hit the lever and handed Dean a paper towel while the toilet ran.

“Better?” Cas murmured. 

Dean couldn’t look at him. His cheeks burned in shame. He wiped at his eyes, wet from exertion, then at his mouth. “Better,” Dean croaked. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Cas said softly. “I’m glad you’re feeling better.” He rubbed Dean’s back once more before standing up. His knees clicked; Dean remembered with an ache that they were both on the wrong side of 30. 

Dean couldn’t get himself to stand. He stared at the tile at the base of the toilet and breathed through the pounding in his head. His mouth was sour, his throat sore from the stomach acid.

“Take your time,” Cas said. Dean heard a cabinet opening. “Feel free to take a shower. I’ll leave some clothes by the door. There’s a fresh toothbrush here too.”

He left Dean there.

Through the door, though, he added, “I’ll check on you in a few minutes.”

That got Dean to eventually stagger to his feet. His clothes reeked, so he was glad to leave them in a pile on the floor as he stepped into the shower. He ran the water and slowly, painstakingly, scrubbed himself of the stench of the bar they’d been in, washing it out of his hair and from under his arms.

By the time he’d brushed his teeth and used Cas’s mouthwash, he felt halfway human, even if his head was still pounding.

He dressed in the clothes Cas left outside. They were Cas’s clothes, clothes Dean had seen him wear a hundred times in their years-long friendship, and putting it on, feeling the cotton against his skin, was more intimate than he knew what to do with. Guiltily, he relished it, and when he walked back into Cas’s bedroom wearing Cas’s clothes, his face flushed when Cas turned over in bed to look.

Dean didn’t dare meet Cas’s gaze as he climbed back under the covers. He tried to be quiet, but a small groan of relief escaped him as his spine met the mattress. 

Cas just watched him.

Dean closed his eyes and breathed through the pounding of his head and heart. Everything smelled like Cas now that Dean had scrubbed the night from his skin, and it was overwhelming to be there in the after, when Dean didn’t have a drunken excuse to be in Cas’s bed. 

It was a few minutes later - Dean counting sheep and getting nowhere knowing that Cas was _right there_ \- when he felt a light touch against the inside of his elbow. 

Dean turned to meet Cas’s gaze. It was piercing even in the dark, and Dean knew what Cas was trying to say. 

By tacit agreement they curved toward each other.

Dean kept his hands close to his chest, but selfishly, guiltily, he let his forehead bump against Cas’s chest. Every breath he took was a lungful of sweet detergent and the smell of Cas.

With a sigh, Cas slung an arm over Dean. His hand spread warm and expansive across Dean’s back. Their shins bumped.

They fell asleep like that.

Leaving the sight of Dean in his bed was difficult, but Cas managed it somehow. He started coffee and then breakfast, and by the time he’d begun frying the eggs, he’d almost forgotten how much he’d yearned to kiss Dean awake, to wrap himself up in the covers with Dean so they’d be pressed together for the rest of the morning - 

But then the bedroom door opened and Dean shuffled into the kitchen, squinting against the late morning sunlight, and Cas had to swallow down the yearning all over again. 

“Morning,” Dean croaked. “I feel like shit.”

Cas flipped a piece of bacon. Some oil splattered on his hand, but it at least kept him distracted from Dean, fresh from sleep, with a pillow crease marking his cheek. “I imagine Sam is having the same morning.”

Dean seated himself and put his head in his hands. “Some bachelor party that was,” he snorted.

Cas smiled. Sam and Eileen were having a small wedding, so the groom’s party really only consisted of Dean and Cas. They’d had an impromptu bachelor party at their local haunt, and Sam had roped Dean into a drinking game. “Was the drinking game worth it?” Cas asked.

Dean had his palms pressed into his eyes. “Cas, I barely remember getting to the bar, much less a drinking game. Did Sammy even make it home? Jesus, I should call him.”

“He’s fine,” Cas soothed, putting some bread in the toaster. “Eileen picked him up, and she messaged me when they got home.”

Dean cursed under his breath. “Gonna be hell to pay the next time I see her.”

“Can’t say I envy you.” Cas slid some bacon and two eggs - sunny side up - in front of Dean. A glass of water and a bottle of painkillers followed. “Toast coming up.”

Dean grabbed the painkillers immediately and shook out two pills into his palm. “Any antacids?”

Cas dug around in a drawer and put another bottle in front of Dean. “Am I your pharmacist on top of your chef now?”

“And my nurse,” Dean said, flashing Cas a tired grin before popping a few antacids. 

The toast was ready, so Cas put that in front of Dean as well. “Eat up.”

Dean grabbed a fork, but paused when he looked at the food. His mouth twisted. “Cas, I don’t mean to be a dick, but - looking at this much food makes me want to hurl again.” He poked at the bacon and turned a little pale.

“Will you at least have some eggs and toast?” Cas suggested.

Dean pointed his fork at the empty chair next to him. “If you split with me.”

So Cas dragged a chair close and split breakfast with Dean. Dean shuffled the bacon off to Cas, but they shared the eggs off the same plate, hands and forks knocking every so often. Their shoulders brushed every time Dean fidgeted in his seat, and Cas leaned into the contact, wondering if and when Dean was going to call him out on it.

He didn’t.

Eventually, however, Dean leaned back with a sigh, chewing solemnly on his toast.

Cas looked up at him. “I could cook another egg if you’re still hungry.”

“You want me to hurl again?” Dean asked, raising his eyebrows. There were bags of fatigue under his eyes. Still, he looked wonderful in Cas’s clothes.

“We’ll try food again later,” Cas suggested. He nodded to the water. “But you should hydrate.”

Dean did as was suggested. Eventually he closed his eyes. Cas wanted to touch the lines at the corner of his eyes. He wondered if Dean would ever let him that close.

“You gonna grab a few more hours of sleep?” Cas asked, wiping crumbs off his chin.

“Maybe,” Dean said. He furrowed his brow. “But right now I’m trying to remember if there was any property damage involved last night.”

Cas piled the dishes on top of each other and set them aside. “Nothing like that,” he hedged.

Dean opened one eye and looked at Cas suspiciously. “What does that mean?”

“No property damage,” Cas said, scratching at an invisible mark on the table. 

“But something else happened last night,” Dean said, narrowing his eyes. He leaned in to peer at Cas’s face. “What did I do?”

Cas looked away, feeling exposed under Dean’s scrutiny. “You said a few things,” he said, not wanting to be untruthful, especially not to Dean, who could read Cas’s face from a mile away. “Not sure if you meant any of it.”

Dean groaned. He scrubbed a hand over his face. “Jesus. I didn’t hit on you, did I?”

Cas paused.

“ _I hit on you?”_

“You suggested we get married.” 

It had been a sweet proposal, if a little silly: Sam had gone to the bathroom, and in his absence Dean had taken to staring open-mouthed at Cas’s profile. It was then that he’d asked, in all his drunken courage, _“You ever think about marrying me, Cas? Swear I’d be good to you.”_

Sam had come back at that moment, and Dean’s mouth had snapped shut, and the brothers had continued with their drinking game, getting steadily drunker as the evening went on.

Cas elaborated: “You said you’d be good to me.” He hitched on a grin that he’d learned from Dean - confident, amused - even though he felt like neither of those things.

Dean’s face was red at the revelation. “Holy shit, Cas. I’m sorry.”

“I take it you didn’t mean it?” It wasn’t quite disappointment that Cas was feeling, but it was a little pinch of hurt right under his ribcage.

“We aren’t even dating,” Dean said faintly.

It wasn’t really an answer to Cas’s question, but Cas didn’t want to embarrass Dean any further, so he didn’t press. He decided to take the burden on himself instead. He thought back to the night before, to the way Dean had stared at Cas when they were alone, to the earnest way he’d said, “ _Swear I’d be good to you_ ,” almost as if he’d meant it. 

Cas fixed that in his mind and hung all his hopes on the next thing he said: “Well, would you want to date me?”

Dean’s slack-jawed look from the night before returned. “What?”

Cas turned to the table and wrapped his hands around his coffee. It was lukewarm by then. “Dean, I care for you.” It was the understatement of their friendship, but Cas had learned over the course of their five years together how easily Dean spooked at affection.

Dean’s next inhale was loud in the mid-winter silence. His exhale was unsteady.

Cas continued, heart in his throat: “Probably more than you think I do.”

Out of the corner of Cas’s eye, he saw Dean’s hand clench on the table. 

“In other words,” Cas concluded, “I would like to date you.”

A long, awkward silence followed. Neither moved. Cas’s coffee mug was warm only because of his hands, still gripping the ceramic so tightly he could imagine it cracking.

Shame and hurt blocked up Cas’s vocal chords. He cleared his throat and said to the pile of dishes in front of him, “If I’ve misread things, please forget I said anything.” The thought that he might have ruined their friendship on an impulse was making Cas’s eyes sting. He waited in terrified silence.

A beat. Another. Dean’s brow was furrowed, his eyes unfathomable. Then, as if startled from a dream, Dean was suddenly straightening in his chair, shaking his head of the cobwebs, taking a deep audible breath. He reached out a hand; it landed on Cas’s forearm. His thumb skimmed the tender skin around Cas’s pulse point.

Dean was looking at Cas through his eyelashes. His cheeks were red, and his mouth lifted in an unsteady smile. “Cas, I’m hungover and probably dehydrated,” he murmured. “It’s taking a while for things to click.”

“Oh,” Cas said, as if he understood. He swallowed the knot of nerves in his throat. 

Dean’s other hand lifted to the side of Cas’s neck. His thumb grazed Cas’s lips. His eyes, when they met Cas’s, were tender.

“ _Oh_ ,” Cas said again, and this time he did understand. 

Dean smiled. They were sitting so close he barely had to pull Cas forward before their lips met in a hesitant kiss.

They kissed languidly in the kitchen for a few minutes before Dean had to beg for a reprieve. “My head’s killing me,” he said, resting his forehead on Cas’s shoulder. “I swear to god I’m never drinking again.”

Cas’s palms stroked Dean’s back. “Can I entice you back to bed for a nap then?” he murmured into Dean’s hair.

God, Dean loved him. Slowly he extracted himself from Cas’s embrace and stood, offering his hand.

Cas took it, smiling. He looked good post-makeout, Dean noted. Pink cheeks, messy hair, wide smile. How could he have waited five years to see it?

Cas led him back to the bedroom, then turned to leave.

“Whoa,” Dean said, grabbing Cas’s wrist. He’d just sat down on the bed. “You’re with me.”

Cas rolled his eyes but turned to face Dean anyway. “You haven’t had enough water,” he said. For some reason he gently touched the corner of Dean’s left eye. Then he stepped away, smiling. “Keep the bed warm.”

Dean let him go and got into bed, marveling at how much had changed over a few hours. When he’d left the bed this morning, he’d thought it’d be the last time. 

Cas returned with a glass of water that he watched Dean drink with a stern look. Later, as he lifted the covers on his side of the bed, he said, “I hope you’ve learned your lesson about drinking.”

Dean was already reaching for him. “Yep. Can’t make out with a hangover.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Cas murmured, but he accepted Dean into his arms.

“You were thinking it,” Dean said confidently, his head mashed up against Cas’s chin.

Cas just sighed in defeat.

It was a few minutes later - Cas was dozing, but Dean’s brain had latched onto an idea and wouldn’t let go - that Dean extricated himself from Cas’s hold and looked at him from an arm’s length away.

“I meant it, you know,” he said.

Cas opened one eye. He ran a hand down Dean’s arm. “Meant what?”

“What I said in the bar. If we got married, I’d be good to you.”

Cas smiled, his eyes drifting closed. “I don’t doubt it,” he said. It was the confidence in his answer that fueled Dean’s reply.

“So what do you think?”

Silence. Cas’s brow furrowed. Then his eyes were open and narrowed at Dean. His hair was already hopelessly mussed. “What do I think of _marrying you_? Dean, we’ve been dating for literally an hour.”

“So what?”

Cas’s mouth dropped open, but he had no reply.

Dean touched Cas’s face. “I know you better than I know anyone else, Cas. My family loves you like their own. You have all my passwords; I haven’t been cleaned out yet, so I assume you’re not gonna rob me. Also you saw me hurl three times last night and you still wanted to make out.”

Cas’s mouth was troubled, so Dean bared it all.

“I’ve known you were it for me since I let you drive Baby three years ago. If that’s even remotely true for you too, then just think about it, alright? You don’t have to answer right now. But I wanted you to know.” Between them, Dean tangled his fingers with Cas’s and squeezed. “I love you and I’m proposing. It’s there if you want it.”

Cas’s eyes were shining, his lips pressed tightly together. “When I said I wanted to date you, I didn’t think I’d end the day being engaged.”

“So you’re saying yes.”

Cas looked at their hands, tangled together between them. “Will you wear a ring?”

“I’d wear clown shoes and a tutu for the rest of my life if you married me right now.”

Cas laughed. His nose was turning red. “A ring will suffice.”

“Thank god,” Dean said, grinning.

“Now can I kiss you, or will you faint from exhaustion?”

Dean couldn’t let that slide. He pulled Cas forward and delivered a bruising kiss that left them both gasping. “Jackass,” Dean breathed in the aftermath.

Cas smiled and hid his face in Dean’s neck. After a pause, he said, almost shyly, “By the way. Since we’re doing things all out of order.”

“Do we have a secret kid hidden away somewhere?”

Dean felt the flutter of Cas’s eyelashes against his neck. “I love you,” Cas said. “Can’t remember a time I haven’t.”

Dean blinked against the sudden stinging of his eyes. His throat caught. He cleared it. “You had to outdo me, didn’t you?”

Cas sniffled.

Dean ran a hand over Cas’s back. The pounding of his head matched the pounding of his heart. “I love you too, Cas.”

**Author's Note:**

> Oh, don't pretend there's not at least one person in the world you'd marry right now if they asked you. :P
> 
> Rebloggable link right [here](https://surlybobbies.tumblr.com/post/640477478258933760/good-to-you-by-surlybobbies-katie-33k-au%22)! (Drop a follow if you're so inclined!)


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